


String

by DagmarIceBlade (almostalldishes)



Series: Rawr the Khajiit [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crack, Gen, string
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostalldishes/pseuds/DagmarIceBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cats and string are mortal enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. String Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Skyrimkinkmeme. The prompt asked for something involving Khajiit and string, because cats and string are of course mortal enemies. Spoilers for final part of Thieves Guild missions.
> 
> Gen! Crack!
> 
> My Khajiit is called Rawr, because I couldn’t think of any other names during character creation.

The string _moved_. The small fibres that poked out of the twisted coil of cotton danced like leaves on the wind. Dancing leaves were a fascinating sight, too, but this… it _spoke_ to her. “I’m a prey, look at me, prepare for attacking me!”

Of course, it didn’t say that out loud, but it could have been waving a big sign around with “ATTACK ME” scrawled on it.

Vaguely, Rawr was aware that she focused on entirely the wrong thing. She certainly knew where she was, so that was hardly the problem. The thing she _should_ have been focusing on was… oh, somewhere to her left.

The string danced, stepped to the side and back again, in an almost perfect imitation of the dances a bard’s song elicited from women and men in taverns. With one tentative paw – her war axes still on her hips, safely tucked away – she poked at the string. It was red, blood red against the grey granite background. Red like wounded prey. A serious slap with her claws raking off the rope followed.

“Rawr! _Focus_!”

That was spoken to her, wasn’t it? She recognized that voice. Karliah stood behind her. 

Then someone laughed, mocking.

But the string moved again, thrown against the rocks a few metres away, and she dove after it. Her claws dug into the cloth, and she rolled on her back. The rope was tugged away from her again, but it stuck to her claws, and she looked in fascination at the movement. She had caught it, hadn’t she? It was struggling to get away! She pulled the string towards her, and sunk her teeth into it. But still it struggled.

“By the Gods, Rawr, stop playing with that rope!” Brynjolf called out.

“Fine Nightingale you made her, Karliah,” Mercer commented, “it seems Nocturnal’s luck has run out.” He tore away the red rope, but only found the resistance of Rawr’s fangs.

Mercer! Rawr scowled and bared her teeth at him, string hanging somewhat limp from her left fang. Her hands reached for the weapons on her hips, ready to pull them out.

“You are _too easy_ , cat.” Mercer pulled at the string again, this time pulling at it with his whole weight.

Rawr was tugged forward, then fell back on the rocks as the rope released from her fang, and she growled low. Her back actually hurt from that, a ridge poking through her armor across several ribs.

“Sadly, I can’t play with you when those two are watching.”

Rawr finally took her war axes in her hands and stood up, fully intending to include some ‘killing Mercer’ in whatever he thought of as ‘play’. Expecting her fellow Nightingales to come up and help her, she advanced on the man, until she realized they did not flank her.

Hearing Karliah and Brynjolf lock in battle, Rawr hissed, ears flat on her head. “This one wishes you dead.”

“I knew a cat once,” Mercer said, ascending the stairs leading up to the enormous statue. The string trailed behind him. “Beast kept playing with a straw.”

The red string pulled across the edges of rocks, flying forward in bursts, behind the man. _Focus, Rawr. The string is not your enemy._

Mercer wiggled the string before her. “It didn’t pay attention to the edge of the walkway and fell into the water. Haven’t seen it since.” With a tug, the string flew forward, towards him, and he let the string dance before his feet.

Oh no… not the dancing string again. 

From left to right it jumped and curled, the knot on the end describing an unpredictable path of hills and valleys, and Rawr could not but stare at it. It suddenly jumped to the left again, and she tensed up, readying herself for the attack, her weapons falling to the floor as she sought grip with her claws on the rocks.

The rope flew away, in a wide curve around Mercer, and Rawr dove after it. Her claws sunk into the knot, and she tumbled across some rocks, almost taking the former Guild Master with her. With a fast roll she got back on her feet and hissed, rope triumphantly hanging from her lower jaw. “This one is faster than Mercer thinks, then.”

Mercer pulled the rope again, but Rawr let it slip from her fang and readied herself to jump past him again, back to her weapons. Only, the rope started dancing before his feet again, and once again the Khajiit let herself fall in a fascinated trance. _No! Fight it, your enemy is behind the rope._ Still, she pounced after it again, and curled around it, dangerously close to her enemy.

With a violent tug, the rope flew over Mercer’s head, and in his other hand a sword appeared. “Too close.”

Clearly he had underestimated her agility, because she rolled away as he brought down his sword.

The rope was back, and flew wide again, trying to incite her to follow. But it was too far away, and Rawr absently wondered if Mercer never had a cat walk away, suddenly filled with disinterest, because it posed too much of a challenge. Mercer, however, still followed up his rope with a low sword stroke, which she easily escaped.

Rawr chuckled at him when he turned back to face her. “You speak of cats, but this one does not see you know them.”

Mercer let the rope dance before him again, and grinned almost mischievously. Rawr tried to keep her eyes locked on his face or his sword, but the movement was too enticing. She was going to attack again, wasn’t she?

_This one really wished he had never met a cat before._

**SU GRAH DUN**

The shout echoed from the walls, and she dove towards the knot at the end of the rope, even faster than before. Mercer pulled it away at the last moment, but had been unprepared for the claws reaching out and yanking it towards her.

While a normal attack may have ended there, the wind of the Thu’um swirled around her and she reached out towards the man’s face. He narrowly escaped having his face torn open, but not the next slash which tore through the leather of his armor and into the man. Rawr rolled away.

“Damn cat!”

Rawr grinned, though her ears still lay flat against her head. “Beware of the claws, Mercer.”

With a roar that would have rivalled hers, he attacked, opting for a dagger instead of a red string in his left hand. The wind that lend her attacks her speed still surged around her, and she caught the first blows with ease with her ebony gauntlets, letting them slide past her. She missed the leg that kicked up, and knocked the air out of her. As she fell to the ground, she clawed at whatever would help her break her fall, which just so happened to be Mercer.

He cried out as claws dug into his leg, his armor providing not enough strength to withstand those sharp edges.

Rawr still needed to regain her breathing, however, and it did not help that Mercer lost his own balance and fell over her. His weapons rebounded off the stairs, and he rolled around quickly to put some distance between them. Somehow, he had pulled out the rope again.

The power of her shout nearly at its end, Rawr dove at him, determined to make the most of that advantage while she could. She pounced him, and they tumbled off the stairs into the icy rising water.

A long moment passed, and Rawr emerged, breathing heavily, but dragging a struggling body behind her. She pushed him to the ground and growled, the string again hanging from her mouth. “Rawr caught your string. Rawr caught you. This one says goodbye to Mercer.”


	2. String Act II

Rawr heard a knock on the door. Sweet Azurah, not now. She wriggled her hands. She wriggled her arms. Even her shoulders locked into a rather uncomfortable position, twisting her joints just a little too far for comfort. With her fingers, she tried to reach the rope, hoping to cut it with a claw, but her hands were firmly immobilized.

Another knock. Perhaps if she stayed quiet they wouldn’t hear her and go away so she could sort out this mess.

Even her legs pushed her agility to its limits. One leg was cramped uncomfortably against her ribcage, while the other twisted to the side. She flexed her foot, bringing with it a painful pulling of the muscles on her calf.

“Rawr? Are you there, lass? I saw you enter,” a slightly muffled voice said.

For all the good in the world, why him? As if one string incident wasn't enough. Growling softly, she tried to get her foot away from the loop that pulled her leg back. Please just come loose. Please just stop holding my foot back, so this one can face her friends with _some_ sense of pride.

“Are you in there?”

She tried to hold her growl, but she couldn’t, and he must have heard it.

“Rawr, are you all right?”

The door wouldn’t open, however, Rawr had made sure it had been locked.

He messed with the lock. That was to be expected, wasn’t it? If only Nocturnal’s luck would turn _her_ way, but Rajhin must have guided his hands, for he unlocked it swiftly.

She writhed and wriggled, trying to loosen her binds in the few precious moments he hadn’t entered the house yet. The loop around her chest pulled even tighter as she tried to relieve the strain on her shoulders, but she was only met with a searing sting in her shoulder joints and between her shoulder blades. She gasped for air, desperately trying to twist back, but it wouldn’t and…

… the door opened. “Rawr?”

Light from outside fell on her and her ears went flat on her head. “Closing the door would let this one keep her pride,” she rasped. Or _some pride_ , at least.

She saw the silhouette of the large Nord against the light of Jode. “Did you… what did you… Lass?”

“This one’s _pride_. Close the _door_.”

He threw the door closed, then just stood there. She got the urge to inspect her hands, brush through her hair, to avert the attention on her unfortunate situation elsewhere, but all she did was flex a few of her fingers.

“Lass, have you been playing with string again?” he asked in a soothing voice.

That sounded like _amusement_. Rawr growled. “If Brynjolf values the life given to him, he will help this one.”

He approached, and she could see the curve of his cheeks, and the mirth in his eyes.

“If Brynjolf values the pride given to him, he will not speak a word of this, dearest thief,” she said. The loop around her chest dug into her skin.

“Don’t you think playing with string is a bad idea after Irkngthand?”

“There are simple pleasures in life,” Rawr said in a strangled voice, glaring at him, “and this one values gold and friendship. And being untied from string this one may have played with.”

Brynjolf crouched and drew out a dagger.

“You do not intend to cut the string, do you?” Rawr said, a degree of worry crossing her face. It was perfectly good string. She would have _paid_ to find such good string. No need to cut it up…

“You say I _shouldn’t_?”

Rawr’s ears went flat to her head again, more out of shame than anger. “You may try to release me without cutting,” she said softly, but her voice sounded even more strangled. That loop around her chest started to burn.

Brynjolf shook his head and cut through several stretches of string. “You’re a danger to yourself, lass.”

The tension finally released from her chest, and then shoulders, and the return of some freedom of movement stung her joints even more than it already had. She winced, her breath still shallow and rough. The final coils around her legs released as the dagger cut through them.

She let herself slide to the floor, pain shooting through limbs and joints and muscles cramping. Blood flooded back to her fingertips. Brynjolf still looked down on her, amused. She growled in frustration and hurt pride.

He picked up a small piece of string, inspecting it. “Is it my imagination, or is this the same string Mercer used?”

The end of the string swung from side to side, and despite the situation that only just got resolved, Rawr found her attention drawn towards it again. _Not the string, Rawr_. Suddenly she remembered something and with some difficulty got up on still painful legs.

“What’re you up to?”

She returned a moment later with a box.

“Are those the Eyes?”

“Don’t look so surprised, dearest thief.” With some reverence, she set it down next to them and opened it. Between the two large gems, lay a small piece of knotted string.

“You _kept_ that?”

Rawr’s ears flattened once again, in a clear signal to _not speak one word about it_ , and she pulled it out. She didn’t even need to hold the two pieces of string next to each other to see they were indeed of the same make. Her ears flattened even more, and she bared her fangs.

“This one wishes to exact revenge upon Mercer Frey again.”

It was such good string. So perfect, it danced in just the right way. Got stuck just long enough behind rocks and trees, but was easy enough to pull along. Her claws could pick it up easily and come loose when she wanted it to. The knot Mercer had made in his string made it an even more tempting target. She poked the knot with one finger, until Brynjolf closed his large Nord hand over the two strings and pulled them from her.

Rawr sighed. How had it come to this? She certainly played with a bit of string sometimes, but frankly, how she had been completely absorbed when that scheming litterless pickpocket had distracted her with the string was entirely embarrassing.

“It is the same. Brynjolf has good eyes,” she said.

“How…”

“It was here when this one returned to her nest. It had a note.” She pulled a note from a box, which had apparently held the string.

“That’s from Solitude. East Empire Company.”

Rawr nodded. “This one visited it to shadow Gulum-Ei.”

“When did you last come here?”

“Four weeks ago.”

“You don’t get home a lot, lass.”

“This one does not like the houses Nords make. Even the Cistern is a better nest than this.” She sighed. “You opened the lock very quickly.”

Brynjolf threw a glance back at the door. “I would have thought you would install a better lock than that.”

“This one did.”

“You came back from Snow Veil Sanctum three weeks ago.”

“This one thinks Mercer had something to do with it,” Rawr said, suddenly sounding even hoarser than normal.

A dark looked crossed Brynjolf’s face, then he looked at Rawr.

That was not just anger, she saw. “You are still amused.”

He grinned. “You really shouldn’t play with string, lass.”

Rawr’s ears twitched and she reached out, and pushed him back. The Nord almost fell back, rolling back on his feet and leaning on one hand. “This one _knows_. Rawr reminds you that she defeated Mercer even with string.”

“And you just got yourself stuck with string.”

“Think of this one’s pride.”

“Not a word,” Brynjolf said as he tried to contain his laughter. And failed.


	3. String Act III

Rawr peered over the edge of the large container, made from sturdy wood and reinforced with metal. Half-filled with string. So much string. Wrapped in several large and many more small coils, all blood red, all just as perfect. _So much string_.

A large hand on her shoulder pulled her back and then a whisper: “Lass, stop looking.”

“Just one more peek.”

“You’ve been having peeks the last few minutes.” Brynjolf looked at her with some concern but mostly mirth. “What do you want to do with it?”

Rawr made a low growling noise in the back of her throat, but averted her attention from the container and let the canvas fall back in place. So much string. _So much string_. Where did it come from? Where would it go? Why did a several metres of the rope wind up in her nest? _So much str_ –

The creak of leather boots on wooden floor boards made both thieves freeze. Another step, and another. These were deliberate steps, not a shuffled stroll. A guard, then. Rawr held her breath. On the other side of the stored crates and containers, a woman in utilitarian outfit passed. The leather on wood sounds soon disappeared in the distance.

“The guard will be back,” Rawr rasped.

“Same guard routes?”

Rawr shrugged, her armor making a soft murmur at her movement. “This one assumes not. But if so, that one will search here as well, dearest thief.”

Their attention shifted from the crate containing the string to their immediate surroundings. Where to hide? Nothing was large enough to hold even Rawr, let alone Brynjolf, except for…

“That is a bad idea. This one does not agree.” Her ears went flat to her head, and she took a deliberate step away from the large container.

“No other options, lass.”

Rawr glared at him, her puffed tail betraying more than just anger. The leather on wood sounds returned. “She’s coming back.”

Brynjolf put an arm around the Khajiit and pulled her gently towards the container. Unable to offer alternatives, she quickly climbed in, followed by the Guild’s second-in-command. They carefully draped the canvas back, hiding them from view.

Creaks came closer, but Rawr’s attention was compromised. Her claws dug into the string, clinging so nicely behind the fibres, making small crisp noises when she withdrew. _So much string and it’s all mine!_ She rubbed her cheek against one of the smaller coils, the texture only as perfect string could be.

Brynjolf caught her hands in his. “Lass.”

She only let out a small breath of air to indicate her displeasure. Apparently, that was not enough.

“Lass? Stop purring.”

“This one cannot help.”

“You _have_ to stop purring.”

The creaks came closer. Brynjolf squeezed her hand and looked at her, pleading to her to _stop purring for both our sakes for the love of Nocturnal_. Rawr breathed slowly. She was not lying in a box full of string right now. She had not just claimed it as her own, she was just hiding somewhere on a very important job for the Guild. She had to focus.

To her relief, the purrs became softer. Footsteps sounded, with slow deliberate intent, almost at their position. It was soft enough to –

The guard stopped. Silence descended. Brynjolf looked at her with wide eyes, and this one was quite sure she looked back at him with equally wide eyes. Please no please no please no. Nobody could know, nobody could find her and know of her weakness –

– for string.

_**Purr.** _

The guard turned, _very clearly_ , to the container with string and, unknown to her, two leading members of the Thieves Guild. The sound of a sword being drawn from its leather scabbard never seemed to be more carefully directed at the intruder than any other dramatic drawing of weapon Rawr had witnessed.

“All right, cat, get out there,” she mumbled with a heavy Nordic accent.

Lifting the canvas with her hand, instead of the sword she had so carefully drawn, was probably the biggest mistake the guard could have made.  
Brynjolf grabbed the guard's hand firmly in one of his, pulling the woman forward with such a sudden force that she collided with her chest to the edge of the container. She cried out, before Rawr caught her face and pulled a hand across her mouth. The guard squirmed and flailed in their grip, her sword falling to the floor and trying in vain to push herself away from the two thieves with her free arm.

She sagged to the floor a few seconds later, trying to catch the edge of the container, but the strength had left her limbs. Brynjolf was the quicker to leave their hide out and with gracefulness unexpected from a Nord his size he slid on the floor boards.

“Was that poison, lass?”

Rawr rolled on her back and looked at Brynjolf. _Look, string! Purr_. “Brynjolf does not agree?” she whispered, sheathing her dagger even as she rubbed her cheek against another coil of string.

“Better than killing her.” He held the guard, a hand across her mouth, aware she may regain use of her limbs sooner rather than later. Screw him, he _grinned_ at her. “Lass, we’ve got little time.”

But it’s _string_. She rolled back on her stomach, claiming another coil as her own. This one couldn’t very well just _leave_ –

– but she fought the urge to roll on her back, and climbed out of the container.

She growled and her fingers twitched at the conflicting signals. Her _pride_ was at stake here. The thought of anyone else but the Nightingales – and Mercer Frey, but he left this world behind – know her greatest weakness was shameful to her and all she held dear. She could not allow that. That determination brought her all the way to Solitude, only to find there was _more_ of that same shameful string. _So much more_. It could mean only one thing.

“This one wants to let the flames take it, dearest thief.”

“Are you sure, lass?”

Rawr flattened her ears and growled at him. “Brynjolf does not _know_.”

“Let’s leave this lady here to alert the rest. Wouldn’t want the whole warehouse to go up in smoke.” He bound the guard’s hands, and she groaned as they lay her on the floor boards. Time was ticking, the poison losing its strength.

Rawr carefully pulled out three flasks from her pack and poured them over the string. It took her a long moment of contemplation to actually cast the spell. “This one bids the string farewell,” she rasped, barely audible to even the guard still bound at her feet.

She cast flames, igniting the liquid she had poured over the rope. She never was very good at magic, but this spell had served her well – from setting fire to bee hives to making a nice camp fire in the coldest of night.

Sparks flew from the fire, and she let herself slide in the water, swimming behind her partner in crime to find the exit. 

 

Rawr shook the water from her head and tail. The sky was alight with aurora, and the air as biting cold as the waters they had just emerged from. Brynjolf hauled a pack with two bed rolls and a bag with dry clothes from a hidden chest. 

“This one is glad for your preparation.”

Brynjolf threw her a thick wool robe. “Preparation is everything, lass.”

It wasn’t long before they sat before a fire, when Brynjolf pulled a pack of papers from his armor that now lay drying.

“This one wishes to only know: is there more?” She leaned in to read the smudged documents along with him.

“There shouldn’t be.”

“This one notes that you did not say ‘no’.”

The Nord held up a small coil of that same rope in his hands, and looked at her with a mischievous smile.

Rawr gasped. “Brynjolf does not _know_ , dearest thief. Gold and friendship.”

“Ah, but I know this: I have not seen you happier than when you rolled around in that container full of string, lass. As if the Eyes of the Falmer were just an ordinary gem.” He handed her the coil.

Rawr growled softly. “Think of this one’s pride.” She looked at the string for a long moment, then threw it into the fire with a bittersweet sigh.

“Not one word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff I couldn't fit in there:  
> I imagine Mercer kept tabs on his adversaries, even if he assumed Rawr dead after Snow Veil Sanctum. So yes, Mercer sent her that string from part 2, with the intention of playing at Rawr's urge to play with string and getting her stuck and out of the way. That plan got messed up because Rawr hardly using her house and Brynjolf dropping by at the right moment.
> 
> The stash they found in Solitude was just a bulk shipment. The East Empire Trading Company has some explaining to do to their customers.


End file.
